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Coffin Kickers
Rated: M ---- So, I live in a small town in America. Near Missouri. Usually, nothing much happens, and we hardly get good weather. For example, it's mid-August right now, and it's foggy. For the past week, it's been raining. And all through the Winter months, it was dreadful to even leave the house. I guess you could say I'm an introvert, really. I don't talk to many people, but I'm exceptionally observant. As a hobby, I enjoy writing. One day, it would be amazing if I could get published. Though in a town like this, it would be hard for me to realise that - except through the internet, but my mom has an absurd fear that if I post to the internet, I'll get cyber-stalked. About three weeks ago, a new family moved into my street. The Jeffersons or something like that, and they seemed like a really great bunch! My mom is on the community council, and so she invited them over for tea, and we had a nice night talking about our pasts, our hopes and what we all did for a living. My mom mentioned that I was an excellent writer, and it piqued Mrs Jeffersons interest straight away. "My daughter writes, too!" Because I was such an introvert, I'd never spoken to many people. I liked talking about writing, though, and if I had to pick something to talk about, it would either be horror, or writing. Naturally, I was bemused at the idea of a fellow writer in town. And a girl, too. I'd never had a girlfriend, in all my sixteen years of being alive. Never! "I'm sure she'd love to come over, and talk to you. She's keen on getting published, you know. But I don't think she ever will, it seems like such a task!" Mrs Jefferson was a lovely woman, with long black hair and green eyes that resembled emeralds. If her daughter was anything like Mrs Jefferson, then I'd hoped we would get along. So I spent a week, maybe a little longer than that, thinking about her. Her name was Emilie. Such a pretty name, I thought then. Well about a week ago, I met her. She was the reflection of her mother, with a brilliant smile. She was tall, and slender. And we really hit it off! But we went upstairs, to talk about writing, and then the weather hit rock-bottom and it started storming. Emilie seemed to not mind, but something was off. Terribly so. Her eyes were a beautiful deep green, but whenever the room went dark for a second, her entire body seemed to grow larger, and her eyes went red. But it could have been my imagination. So, the topics went on, and on. And we spoke about inspiration, and I told her I like to write horrors, so I read spooky stories. She pulled out her black Motorola flip-phone, and pressed a few buttons, then showed me a picture. It was then ''that everything went down. The image was vile. It seemed to be a cat, mutilated to death with razor wire cutting through it's fleshy neck. I asked her where the picture was from. She replied, '''it's from Google'. Absentmindedly, I listened to her. Then she showed me another picture of what looked like a dogs head, with the previous cats body. The dogs head had been ripped in two with each of its bones jutting outwards from its skull. It's just from Google, I promise! Then she starting asking personal questions, like had I ever had sex, and do I ever think about killing people. At the time, these seemed like research for a book she might have been writing. But she started to get closer to me, touching me. Though we'd been talking about what we'd wrote all night, what she started to say startled me. The once, I wrote about a girl. Her name was Emma. Well she llived with her family, but her family didn't like her - so they killed her. Slit her throat. Then they brought a cat called Evelynn and a doggy called Tyrone. Emma's soul was furiated at being replaced! So, she tormented her mother every day. She'd call the house phone. She'd attack the dogs. And one day, when Emma's father was at work, Emma's mother went to the graveyard. She dug up the rotting corpse of her daughter and tried to bring her back to life. It worked, of course, her spirit was angry. Very angry. But when she was taken home, she had to get rid of the vermin. The vermin being the dog and cat, of course. She ripped them apart, one by one. When her father got home, he was petrified. He demanded they move house to escape the ghost girl. But it didn't work. Twelve years later, and twelve houses later, they're stuck in the same loop. Back in the same town, in the same house, still with their ghost girl. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Just very realistic. She must have been a brilliant writer, with such an amazing imagination. We spoke for a few days over text but I didn't see her again, except for today. Because her parents were moving house, something about their cat and dog getting killed, I think it was the Rattray's down the road - they're horrid. So now I'm sat on my computer, browsing the news articles and sure enough, I just stumbled onto the inspiration for Emilie's story. Yeah, twelve years ago alright, a family killed their daughter. But I think Emilie has adapted it somewhat, because in this, the parents died straight after they killed their daughter. Their bodies were found sewn together after being ripped apart. Well I suppose it's time for me to go back downstairs, Emilie's been down their with my mother an awful long time, and I haven't heard a thing. I should probably go check on her, I heard her pets have just died. Category:Prose Category:Writing Category:Horror Category:Angst Category:Rated M Category:Finished